


Red Roses

by windandthestars



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff with feelings, One Shot, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Season/Series 03, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 12:17:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19318015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: Valentine's Day, 2013.





	Red Roses

**Author's Note:**

> Set pre season 3, with spoilers for seasons 2 and 3. Thank you to the tumblr anon who suggested Valentine’s fic. I tried to stick to canon for once which was an odder experience than I expected; I still can't decide if there's enough fluff or too much.

She’s digging through her purse, looking for her keys because Will can’t seem to get his untangled from his pocket when she realizes with a sudden lurching feeling that she’s left his gift at the office.

She’d spent more than she should have on them especially since Will had other cufflinks, but he only had the one pair he could wear on the air: sedate, understated. She’d wanted to give him something he could wear around the office, a part of her he could take with him into the studio.

She hadn’t intended to give them to him there, but she hadn’t been able to leave them in the apartment, not with contractors in an out all day so she’d stashed them in her desk, and forgotten them.

Will wouldn’t mind. They’d already agreed to skip the weekend away this year. The show had been struggling a bit since election; she’d wanted the extra time to dig in and do some work. He’d proposed spending the extra cash on something for the apartment, an espresso machine, a chandelier. He’d delighted in finding the oddest of suggestions.

They’d agreed on something simple, dinner tonight, something fancier than their usual takeout: homemade pasta, a bottle of wine, exchanging gifts. She’d been looking forward to that.

She hears a key turn in the lock and looks up to see the door swinging open. 

“Got it.” Will announces, reaching around the doorframe for the light switch.

She hears it click, but nothing happens.

He steps into the apartment and she follows him into the dark waiting for him to find the right switch, but she hears it again, that soft click, and nothing happens.

“Again.” She hears Will drop his bag to the floor. “Stay there for a second. I think I remember where I left the flashlight.

He would. He was good with things like that, remembering where she stashed the emergency candles and the matches, the spare batteries for the flashlight he’d gone to retrieve. Normally she didn’t have a problem remembering; she always put things in the same place, but they currently didn’t have kitchen cabinets, or drawers, all they had was boxes, boxes and countertops and a mattress on the floor.

“There.” She sees the halo of light moving across the floor, sees Will appear behind it and smiles at the cautious hunch of his shoulders. She smiles and then brings her hand up to her face realizing she’s been crying.

“What’s wrong? Did you kick something again?” He’s suddenly there tipping her chin up and she’s startled enough to let him do it.

“I left. At the office, I left your present.” She swallows and sees him relax; he can fix this.

“We can, or I can run back and—”

She shakes her head. “Tomorrow. It’ll, it’ll be there.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” She forces a smile and then sighs, sighs and bursts into tears, reaching over to wrap her arms around him, plunging them both into darkness, the flashlight pressed against his chest.

“I forgot it.” She says again and then continues with the litany. “It’s ruined. There’s no power. You were going to cook dinner and we were going to— we were going to—”

She stops again, startled to find she’s pretty sure he’s laughing. He’s definitely laughing, a silent chuckle that stops when she pulls away.

“That’s not funny.”

“No, it’s not.” He agrees sounding too happy to be entirely serious. “But it’s still the best Valentine’s I’ve had in years.”

“There’s no food.”

“We’ve been using the camp stove.” He reminds her gently. “And we have takeout menus. Plus I have you. Forget the other stuff, that’s the important thing.”

“It’s dark.”

“We’ve survived worse.”

“There’s no light.”

“I’ll get the lantern and a couple of candles. Dinner’s going to be extra romantic.”

“The wine’s going to be warm.”

“Would you prefer warm bourbon?”

“The whole bottle?”

She knows he can’t tell if she means she wants the whole bottle or something else, but he has realized she’s still upset.

“I can run down the street and grab some ice if you want.” He offers, reaching to cup the side of her face, his palm warm against her damp cheek.

“I wanted it to be perfect and I ruined— I ruined your present, all the presents. You were going to cook me dinner and—”

“Oh,” he breathes out like he’d forgotten. “That’s not your— your present’s over there.” He waves the flashlight toward the doorway invisible at the other end of the room. “It’s in the kitchen, the almost kitchen.”

“What?” She asks because she can’t imagine what it is that he could have got her that he would’ve left in there.

“You said you didn’t want much.” He grins at her then takes her hand, tugging her toward the door. “Let’s go see.”

At first she doesn’t see anything. Will has the flashlight pointed right at them, but there’s enough of a shadow, there’s enough of _them_ that she doesn’t quite understand what she’s seeing.

“Flowers.” She says and smiles a little when he scoffs at how unimpressed she sounds.

“Roses.” He corrects. “Ninety six of them.”

“Ninety six roses.” She repeats dumbfounded having realized what she’s looking at; the kitchen counter full of vases. Vases of roses. “How many—”

“A dozen a year. I double checked the math. They kept trying to sell me the extra four. You know, make it an even number.”

“What?” She says and then stops talking because she’s too busy staring at the sea of red petals.

“You said no one’s ever sent you roses. I had a lot of catching up to do.”

She hadn’t meant that, he had to know that, but she should’ve known, should’ve at least expected roses, because that was Will, sweet, even if his idea of romantic tended to be sedate, a little traditional.

“They’re beautiful.”

“They smell nice too.” He steps closer, wrapping his arms around her, the flashlight in front of them both illuminating the deep red petals as she realizes she can smell them, the sweet heady scent that covers up the smell of the industrial glue, paint, and caulk.

The construction had been more overwhelming than she’d expected. Will said it reminded him of camping, but the power cuts, the sudden lack of running water reminded her more of living in a conflict zone. She was safe here, she felt safe here, but the reminder could be jarring, chaffing in ways she hadn’t stopped to think about since they’d officially moved in a couple of weeks ago.

They could’ve waited. She could’ve said something, but neither had felt like an option. She could say something now, but she doesn’t want that either she realizes, shifting farther into his embrace.

The emptiness was what had been getting to her, the reminder of that. What she’d needed was this, was him close to her warm and safe, watching the arc of light shiver as he laughs. She needed a reminder that he was here now, that they both were, and he’d given her that. She’d have the roses for months, dried and set aside, they’d still be here long after the construction had finished, after they’d settled in.

He’d been an idiot buying her so many, especially on Valentine's, but she appreciates that they’re here, that he’s not about to give up being hopelessly romantic any sooner than he’s going to give up on her. They’d made it this far. They’d be OK, even if she needed him to remind her of that once in a while.


End file.
